


From a Cabin in the Middle of the Mountains

by shihadchick



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cabin!fic, set during the period before Pretty. Odd. was recorded. A quiet moment, as (not quite) seen on tv. (Thanks, Shane.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	From a Cabin in the Middle of the Mountains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jezzabe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jezzabe).



> For Jezzabe, on the occasion of her birth. &lt;3

"This may not have been our best idea," Spencer says, sitting down beside Jon, and not bothering to wait for an invitation to help himself to a smoke from his pack.

He cups the lighter inside his hands until it catches, the end of the cigarette flaring briefly as he takes a deep, thoughtful drag.

Jon hums something non-commital, and then asks "being here, or...?"

His voice trails off, and the wide open space of the valley around them seems to swallow his words up without a trace.

He seems so small, sitting out on the roof, knees tucked under his chin. Spencer isn't exactly feeling terribly significant here himself, right now.

"Don't be stupid," Spencer says, and the wind catches his words too, throws them out over the hill and far away.

"Hard not to take it as an- not an omen," none of them are spooked enough for that, really, "but a metaphor. Isn't it?" Jon's voice is small, uncertain.

"No," Spencer says decisively, exhaling heavily, the smoke drifting out from his lips to combine with the low mist swirling about their cabin. "It's our first time writing all together," he goes on, after some pause for more thought. He has to say this right, can't let things lie. "It's actually going better than I'd expected."

Off Jon's sceptical look, he laughs ruefully and adds, "well, yes, largely because I get you in my bed. But still, would you believe me if I said it's going better than the first time?"

Jon cocks his head, looks consideringly at him, and then reaches over to pluck the cigarette from Spencer's fingers, taking a deep drag himself.

"Yeah, actually," he says, after reflecting. After considering Ryan's strained silences and Brendon's manic enthusiasm; the way he'd molded himself to Shane when he'd turned up, desperate for a new face, and most especially an unambiguously friendly one. Brendon had gone into full performance mode with the camera, throwing himself outside of it all, and while it was good for him - certainly better than Ryan's current coping mechanisms, at any rate - it wasn't great for their music.

"We're going to start over, aren't we." Jon says, not a question.

"Yep," Spencer says, stealing his cigarette back again, warm from Jon's lips, the filter slightly damp. "But just think of what we've got out of our systems now, hmm?" His smile is fierce, doesn't take any prisoners, admits nothing and everything all as one exhibit.

"You're kind of a ruthless bitch, Spence," Jon says, punctuating that comment by taking the cigarette - his cigarette, really - back again, inhaling before he shifts, leaning back on his palms, letting his left hand brush against Spencer's hip lightly, fond, careful to keep the fingers of his other hand curled away from the wet tiles.

"Mmm, you love it," Spencer says, just as quietly.

"You know Shane's filming, right?" Jon asks, hardly moving his lips, head tucked in close to Spencer's.

"I do, yeah," Spencer says, leaning still closer, as if for warmth.

"Good," Jon says, "because I want it to be clear that that's the only reason I'm not kissing you right now."

"Like Brendon can't ask him to edit," Spencer says with a careless shrug. "He likes us enough to set aside some of his documentarian impulses, anyway," he adds, and Jon replies "so what you're saying is we'll bribe him with your stash."

"Your stash," Spencer corrects, pulling the very end of the cigarette away from Jon's fingers for one last drag before tossing it off the roof, a falling ember in the dusk.

Jon's lips are on his before it even winks out.

* * *


End file.
